


check into the hotel bella muerte

by bi_tlejuice



Category: Hotel Artemis, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, a hospital for criminals, charlie be killin people, mentions of lots of violence, this is a Hotel Artemis au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_tlejuice/pseuds/bi_tlejuice
Summary: based off of the Hotel Artemis moviecharlie's an assassin who's really, REALLY pissed off the Wolf King, the criminal overlord of LA. he doesn't remember anything before like, age 20. mac helps run the dark room hospital for criminals, and maybe charlie can remember him from something?
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Mac McDonald, Charlie Kelly/Mac McDonald
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	check into the hotel bella muerte

**Author's Note:**

> if you've watched hotel artemis, cool! charlie isn't an arms dealer like charlie day in the movie is, cause his character was an ass.
> 
> if you haven't, you can still read this! mac is the replacement for the old security guy (everest) and the nurse runs this hospital. the names like niagra, honolulu ect are the names of the hotel suite they get assigned which also act as their code names

Awareness filters through slowly.

The thick blanket of numbness surrounding his body feels like a painkiller, not any kind of sedative, and in the back of his mind he can hear the monitor beating on repeat. _Fuck_. Just to test, he shifts his right arm suddenly to feel the IV tugging at the skin. Instead he's met with a fiery pain burning up his shoulder and down his back, and it's enough to wake him up completely. One of his eyes is swollen shut, but after a few seconds of adjustment with the other he realises that either he's gone completely blind or the room is just dark. If he did manage to call Frank in time, like he _doesn't_ remember doing, then this is a best case scenario.

If this is a real hospital, he's dead.

He kicks his foot around slightly and the lights flick on - either from the movement or the sound he accidentally makes after moving - and he sees a scalpel and several other small, sharp utensils that will be his best friends if this turns out to be anywhere other than the Artemis. Okay. Three sharp, deep breaths that make him feel like there's knives rattling around his chest and then a quick push with both feet means he's in a slightly skewed sitting position and can properly take in the room he's in. From memory, which is actually something Charlie prides himself on, this looks a lot like the Artemis.

The guy who walks in and says, "oh good! You're awake," does _not_ look like anyone who works at the Artemis. Before he blinks, Charlie has the scalpel in his right hand and (due to the lack of responsiveness he feels in his left hand,) a small knife between his teeth.

"Where am I?" he asks, pretty clearly considering the utensil in his mouth, but the man's overly-friendly smile doesn't falter.

"The Artemis, Acapulco suite. You were submitted by a Mr F? Pretty much all of your ribs are broken, along with most of the metacarpal bones in your left hand," he pauses, holds out his hand presumably for the weapons. Charlie shakes his head in a way that he hopes conveys _I want to see the Nurse first._ "When you arrived, your eyeball had been kinda removed along with a good amount of skin, one of your shins is broken- oh! And we had to give you a new lung 'cause you were stabbed in the chest, like, thirteen times."

" _Fuck_ ," he sighs, mostly because of how much all of that hurts. "Nurse?" he adds on when the bearded guy is just stood there waiting. It comes out kind of garbled and rude-sounding around the knife, and the guy actually looks kind of sad, sad enough to make Charlie feel guilty, but then he leaves and Charlie reminds himself to get a grip.

There's no way he fucked this up. Charlie Kelly doesn't fuck up plans. In the last nine years he's never once missed a shot, or sliced the wrong way or left so much as a hair in an incriminating location. Forget being below the radar, he's never even gone near it; anyone who needs him goes through Frank, who's the biggest tight-ass about security that Charlie's ever met, and then they go through Charlie himself. No direct contact, different phone each call with his voice scrambled a different way for each client. Even if he'd misinterpreted the steps the Wolf King was taking, that would lead to a miss (which was rare in itself) but never in all the years has that ever meant being _caught_.

_"ETA approx two minutes," she says into his ear, tone almost suggesting she knows exactly what he's about to say._

_"Waitress, honey, you know I can't be dealing with approx. When's he arriving?"_

_"These code names are fucking stupid," she sighs, then adds "One minute forty-eight," because she has to. When Frank hired her, he neglected to ever tell Charlie what her name was and he never really had another opportunity to find out. He's never met her, but she would sound attractive if she wasn't so needy. "Thirty seconds, car should be pulling up to the gate now. Frank says if you miss this you're done."_

_"I don't miss," he counters, not gracing her with a response when she huffs into his ear, only getting into position behind his shotgun and waiting. Sure enough, the black limousine is appearing as the gate opens. Charlie test squeezes the trigger three times, just for ritual's sake, before flicking off the safety and taking a deep breath. The driver's door opens, and then the back door is opened by someone dressed like a waiter, and then-_

_"Target isn't there," he says before his brain catches up with his eyes. "I repeat- Wolf King isn't here."_

_There's some kind of scuffle, then Frank is speaking over whatever the waitress is trying to say. "Get out, Charlie._ **_Now_ ** _."_

_Charlie doesn't need to hear it twice. Within seconds everything is back in his shoulder bag, but he knows already that he can't just leave. "I- dude, I've been watching this guy on and off for months. He's been tipped off, there's no way he just-"_

_A floor underneath him, the exit door he propped open bangs shut._

_"Shit," he whispers, back to the wall immediately and pistol at the ready._

That's pretty much where the memory ends, so he's not really sure how he got the shit so truly kicked out of him. Even if there had been four or five of them, he'd had two fully loaded pistols, multiple knives of varying size and a fucking shotgun if it had come down to it. So what happened?

"You look like shit, Charlie," the Nurse sighs, dropping her bag at the base of his bed. "Lie down, idiot. You've lost nearly half of your blood and you've been out for a day."

"What happened?"

She digs around her bag for a few seconds before triumphantly pulling out a small glass box. "Remotely controlled tranquiliser dart. Doesn't matter how far away from the window you are if someone has one of these bad boys. Don't open the glass, by the way, because another dose of this stuff will probably kill you."

Charlie puts the box down. "Where's Everest?"

The nurse doesn't falter, because she never does, but her voice cracks when she speaks. "Gone. Mac told me about the fright he gave you."

He attempts to shrug in response, but that elicits some kind of pathetic whine at the pain it causes in his chest. "Didn't sign up for anyone else when I started paying."

"Like you're the one paying for your membership," she scoffs, removing the stethoscope from where he didn't even realise she was listening to his chest. "I didn't sign up for anyone else either, but Mac's good through and through." Charlie knows if he can't trust the nurse then he can't trust anyone, so he trusts her.

Suddenly, alarms start blaring and the nurse freezes, calling Mac from her iPad and tapping her foot shakily. On edge, Charlie tries to focus his blurry sight on the security footage up on the screen behind him, but to no avail.

"It's probably-" she sighs, at the exact time two gunshots echo down the corridor outside Charlie's room. At lightning speed Charlie's reaching for his own gun that isn't there, then scooping up a handful of all the surgical tools that vaguely resemble knives. He feels almost lightheaded with the concept of having to fight without being able to move anywhere, but then he realises he's lightheaded because the movement made blood start pouring from his nose. 

"Shit," says the Nurse, and then Charlie loses consciousness. 

-

_Charlie is vaguely aware that he is dreaming, but that doesn't mean he has any control over it. Judging from how tall the kitchen bench is, he's back to one of those snippets of memory from when he was a child. They come into his dreams quite often, fragmented voices and rooms and faces but nothing he's ever been able to piece together. Sometimes there's a woman - he's never seen her face but he's seen her shoes and he knows her voice - that he thinks was his mother, but strangely he feels indifferent to her. After a night of drinking and cocaine, Frank admitted to him that his mother's name was Bonnie, and the name felt familiar in his mouth._

_"Charlie, dude, let's go!" whispers a voice from behind him, pulling him back into the memory at full force. There's a young kid standing behind him, holding up a wet six-pack of old mill and sporting a toothy grin. This kid's face is something Charlie's always been able to remember, but he's never spoken in a memory before, only been some kind of presence in the background. From the snippets of memory Charlie has written down in a notebook back home, it seems like the kid had been around pretty much from birth up until whatever happened._

_Memory-Charlie starts following the kid, out of the backdoor and closing it very quietly before high-fiving the kid. "Sweet, man! Where did you get these?" he hears himself asking._

_"I totally stole them, dude! The cashier was like, super old and deaf and whatever, so she didn't even notice."_

_**"Is that dirtgrub and Ronnie the rat?"** a voice jeers from across the road, but before Charlie can turn to look, the kid is grabbing his hand and pulling him into a run. He wants to resist, to pull away and see who's shouting at them or chasing them, but memory-him doesn't. Instead, memory him is laughing, holding the kid's hand tight and running with him._

He wakes up with a start, as he normally does, and notes the absense of blood all over him despite the earlier nosebleed. Thankfully there's a cup of water on the table next to his bed, but the second he reaches for it a sharp pain shoots through his chest and he cries out without meaning to. "God damnit," he mutters, trying again despite the pain in his head making his eyes water whenever he tries to move. 

"Having trouble?" Mac hums, sticking his head around the doorway that Charlie didn't even hear open. That's worrying. These injuries will heal, even if it takes a couple of weeks or months, but damage to his ears and eyes could be permanent and ruin everything. Charlie's not an idiot, so he's not surprised that the nurse couldn't fix the partial damage to his left eye, but Frank has a lot of resources so he'll probably be able to sort a bionic replacement or something annoying like that. Ears are different, though. Much easier to replace an eye than a whole ear canal.

"Maybe," he admits, watching Mac warily as he smiles and brings the water over to him. "Everest was never this helpful."

"Everest was a grumpy bitch," Mac grins, sitting down in the chair next to Charlie's bed as if he'd been asked to stay. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not like, badmouthing the dead or anything - I loved the guy - but he was a grump. I take a more hands-on approach, y'know?"

Charlie squints at him, thinking about all of the other hotel members he's had the pleasure of encountering over the years. "And how's that been going for ya?"

To his surprise, Mac chuckles, and Charlie immediately notices what a nice laugh he has and then immediately afterwards condemns this thought. "I've had mixed responses. Sometimes people get real mad and call in other people to shoot me 'cause they aren't allowed to," he sighs, shrugging a shoulder towards the door to indicate what happened earlier. "I was going round and caught Mr Niagra building a bomb- and well, _everyone_ knows that's against the rules. He's on his way out now, anyway, but the accomplice who picked him up was not too happy to see me."

"Where'd you come from, then? Big shoes to fill, and it's hardly somethin' you can advertise for," Charlie finds himself asking, watching the way Mac's fingers tap on the arm of the chair. What the fuck is he doing? This place is _run_ by the Wolf King, so getting chummy with the employees is an _awful_ idea. Charlie's dick is just doing the speaking for him, because Mac is cute and obviously fucking swole. 

"I thought you guys were 'sposed to know not to ask questions?" he snips back, but it's playful and Charlie's grinning in response before he can control his face.

"We know who isn't gonna shoot us on sight for questioning them. You can ask anyone anything in this place, 'cause no matter how much you piss someone off they can't kill you."

"What d'you do, then?"

Charlie grins again, shakes his head slightly because any other movement sends tendrils of pain down his neck. "In a place where you can ask anything, you've gotta know what you can answer." Mac's shoulders droop and he pouts jokily, and even though Charlie's a stupid criminal and this guy is just security in a hospital for other stupid criminals, he doesn't want the conversation to end. So, instead of leaving it at that and letting Mac find his own way out like he definitely _should_ be doing, he says "maybe you're not asking the right questions, though."

This seems to pique Mac's interest. He sits up in his chair and seems to size Charlie up; his boots, his jacket, the assumed state of his face (not that Charlie's been able to look in a mirror since he got here.) "Are you shit at your job? Or did someone else being shit fuck you up this badly?"

Charlie scoffs, embarrassingly sounding more squeaky than he would have liked. "Bold question." Mac just shrugs, looks attractively sure of himself. "I am awesome at my job, dude. Not to suck my own dick or anything, but I've never messed up like this _once_ ," he says, completely sucking his own dick. "Someone snitched on me. Not sure who."

" _Interesting_ ," is the response he gets, complete with an eyebrow raise. "What's your code of ethics, then?"

"Why d'you assume I've got one? I could be like, worst of the worst."

"You're a tiny man with a baby face underneath a beard," he grins, holding up his hands in mock-surrender when Charlie narrows his eyes. "Dude, kidding. Everyone has one. It's how we all sleep at night. The nurse has her rules, I've got my own rules. What're yours?"

He ponders this for a moment - not because of the content of his rules, but more in how to word them without giving anything away. Surprisingly, Mac's completely right; Charlie _lives_ on his rules, and they're the cause of many tiffs between him and Frank as they often lead to refusal to complete a job that Frank deems perfectly acceptable. "Number one is no kids," he says after a moment, because that's the most clear-cut one. "No matter what- like, no matter how much money, or how annoying my boss is about it, I'll never, ever hurt a kid." Mac nods slowly, approving but listening intently. "Number two is a little difficult to explain, uh- I personally have to view them as like, a bad person. I do a ton of research before I agree to anything."

"You kill people?"

"Do you?" he shoots back, almost flirting at this point, which is a royally bad idea. He can almost hear Frank chastising him in the back of his mind.

 **"Internal call; Honolulu suite,"** echoes through the room, and Charlie remembers that they're in a shitty hospital and not on a date.

"The nurse is sleeping," he explains, before turning towards the screen in his hand and saying "pick up."

" _Alright, Mac. Where the fuck are you? I've been buzzing you for more morphine for like, five fucking minutes now-"_ crackles the voice, and Mac is rolling his eyes and hanging up before Charlie has the chance to speak but he _knows that voice_. 

"Rude assholes," Mac sighs, heaving himself out of his chair. "Well, I'd better-"

"Was that- are the Reynolds twins here?Was that-"

"You seem like a really nice guy, but it's like, against the rules for me to tell you people's real names." He must see the absolute despair on Charlie's already pretty broken face and take pity, because he sighs and shuffles his feel around on the floor. "I can't break the rules, 'cause the Nurse will be like, super mad at me. But if you want, I can ask Mr Honolulu to come in your room and speak to you?"

"Yeah, yeah thanks," is all he can manage in response. According to Frank and every other piece of intel he's caught onto in the last two months, Dennis and Dee are _dead_. They stole a shipment of diamonds (Yakuta Canaries, worth $18 million according to Frank) from a friend of the Wolf King and got away with it, and then someone attached a bomb to the bottom of Dee's car and their bodies suddenly ceased to exist. Charlie went to see the site himself as soon as he could get to LA, but the blood and hair and fingers sealed it. Dennis and Dee are dead, but here's Dennis walking into his suite anyway.

"You fucking _asshole_ ," Charlie says before Dennis shuts the door behind him, voice cracking and eyes watering. 

"Are you too fucked up to hug?" he asks, and he's tearing up too though he would never admit it, so Charlie says no and lets Dennis hug him even though it hurts like a bitch. "Oh, fucking hell, man. I thought you were dead!"

"Don't give me that shit, man, I thought you were dead for the last two fuckin' months!" he cries out, and he is kind of crying now because Dennis is the closest thing he has to a friend that he doesn't actually work with and even though they don't see each other loads, the idea of never seeing him again had really fucked him up. "Dude, I- where's Dee? I mean-"

"She's alive, man," Dennis sighs, pulling the chair closer to the bed than Mac had it and sitting down with his head in his hands. "Barely, but she's alive. We weren't actually in the car when the bomb went off- stupid assholes rigged it to go off when it unlocked rather than when it started. Dee was just-" he pauses, swallows, doesn't look at Charlie. "Dee was a lot closer than I was." It's only now that Charlie takes in the burn scars up Dennis' neck, thinks back to the slight limp he'd had when he'd walked in or the missing finger on his right hand. 

"Lucky escape for you then, huh."

"Yeah," he sighs, leaning back in the chair and flexing his hand. "I actually kept my finger in the explosion, pretty much. Bit of shrapnel got about half-way through the bone, but I thought Wolf King would want some evidence so I went all the way."

"Can I see her?" he cuts in. Even though Dee is stupid and annoying, and used to piss them off all the time and still does, she's Dennis' sister and pretty much as good as Charlie's and he's _missed_ her.

"She's asleep at the moment, but I'll get Mac to wheel you in later, if you want." For a moment, they both share the silence. Charlie takes a chance to thank God (he's 83% sure that there's no God, but if there is one then it can't hurt) that Dennis and Dee are both alive, and himself as an afterthought. "So what happened to you?"

Dennis has never really been one to care about other people's problems - maybe it's the distance, or maybe it's the air of the separate traumas they've experienced - but he sits and listens whilst Charlie talks about the months of research put into killing the Wolf King in LA. Relief washes through him when he watches Dennis listen, because he can see in the other man's eyes that he believes Charlie; believes he didn't fuck up in any way, and believes that someone snitched on him and that that is the only reason he got caught. 

They sit and talk for an hour or so until Dennis is nearly asleep in the chair and the Nurse does her rounds and tells him to come back to his room for more healing on his burn scars. He lingers after she leaves, squeezes Charlie's working hand and slips a Xan onto his bedside table 'just in case'. The Nurse comes back in, rolls her eyes and fills up the cup of water for if he wants it. It's not addiction, or anything, and Dennis knows that - Charlie just has trouble sleeping sometimes, is all.

_Shockingly cold water splashing in his face wakes him up. There's something covering his eyes, but he's standing with his arms tied over his head, barefoot on some kind of stone cold floor. Blood and the disgusting stench of death is thick in the air. Charlie knows what's coming before the blindfold is pulled away so he squeezes his eyes shut but two thumbs pull them open anyway._

_"Hello, Mr Kelly. How are we feeling?" he hears before his eyes focus, ice cold fear crawling up his spine. The Wolf King of LA stands before him in the dark room, white suit untouched despite the pungent blood smell and Charlie's many injuries. "You've always stayed well out of my way, and I can't say I don't greatly admire your work - there are few men with your skill-set, after all," he begins, stepping forward and swiping his cane back and forth along the floor. "I can't promise I would have left you alone **forever** , but come **on,** Charlie. You think you could try and kill me and just get away with it?"_

_There's a sharp swish in the air, and the cane contacts his cheekbone with a sickening crack before he realises it's left the floor. Only when the cane meets his back does he realise his skin is bare._

_"I'm invincible," he whispers, breath grazing Charlie's ear but just a step out of reach when Charlie kicks out at him. His body won't respond, won't defend him no matter how hard he tries. "Don't agree? Why don't you ask Dennis?"_

_Wolf King steps aside, allowing Charlie's eyes to focus on the dark room behind him and Dennis' body hanging limply from by his hands, throat slit. "Or sweet, sweet Deandra?" he adds, behind Charlie now and perfectly in reach, but untouchable because Charlie's staring at Dee's body at Dennis' feet, mouth cut in a permanent smile. A couple of feet to the right is Frank, split down the middle and there's bile coming up his throat._

_"You did this," he says, taunting, as if he knows he'll always be just out of reach. "You."_

Charlie wakes up screaming.

After a few seconds of _you're not there, you're safe, you're not there, you're safe,_ he manages to stop the hoarse noise coming out of his mouth but no matter how much he reassures himself, the fear won't go away. Every time he chokes a breath out the chain tightens around his chest. Normally breathing is hard enough when this happens, but with the added pain from the assault it's nearly impossible, eyes watering from the pain and turning into tears when it doesn't get any easier. 

"Hold still," Mac says from Charlie's right, and how he got so close Charlie isn't sure but all he can do is hide his face and push the bigger man away. "Calm down, dude, or I've gotta sedate you."

" _Panic attack_ ," Charlie forces out through gritted teeth, nearly choking on the words in desperation not to be sedated. " _Get out._ "

"Oh, sorry dude," Mac says, and Charlie stays hidden, waiting for the door to slam shut so he can resume panicking and then eventually calming down. Instead, he hears the chair scraping and when he looks up Mac's sat down, wide eyed and staring at Charlie. "Breathe in your nose for four seconds, hold it, and breathe out."

Out of surprise more than anything else, Charlie does it- or tries, at least, because his nose is kind of snotty. It's gross and embarrassing, and he doesn't understand why Mac is putting the time and effort into this, especially when his tablet is repeatedly beeping at him. Eye contact has never been Charlie's best friend for whatever reason, but it isn't too hard to meet Mac's eyes, even if the look is probably conveying some kind of pathetic _why are you still here_. Instead of backing off, or at least relinquishing eye contact like a normal person, Mac holds out his hand as if offering it to Charlie. When Charlie just stares at it and carries on trying to follow the breathing pattern suggested, Mac shrugs and says, "You can squeeze it if you wanna. I always thought it helped."

It does help. 

After a couple more minutes, Mac drops his hand and pulls some crumpled tissues out of his pocket, offering them with a wonky smile. "Bet Everest never did this, huh?"

Laughter bubbles in Charlie's throat and it feels a little bit like there's spiders crawling around his stomach. "Why're you doing it?" he asks, because for some reason the answer is important to him. Mac just shrugs, shuffling in his chair when Charlie carries on staring at him.

"You seem nice?" he supplies, grinning sheepishly when Charlie narrows his eyes. Mac has nice teeth, he notes. "I get panic attacks sometimes and I like, know how much they suck."

It's not the answer he's expecting, and there's something recognisable in the tone of his voice that suggests there's something else. But all in all it sounds real, sounds like Mac has said _I saw you in your moment of vulnerability, so here's mine._

"Mac, I swear to shit- oh, I am intruding, gentlemen?" says the Nurse, and Charlie drops Mac's hand and feels himself flush some stupid pink. "Code red, big guy. Need a gurney ASAP while I sort the room." Mac jumps out of his chair almost comically and shoots Charlie a smile he doesn't really understand before half-running out of the room. "You alright, kiddo?" she sighs. He's stayed here enough times before to wake her up from shouting in his sleep.

"I'll live," he responds, because he probably will. 

"Chin up, chickie. I'll get Mac to bring your dinner instead of me," she says, voice completely serious but some kind of twinkle in her eye. She's gone before he can protest. 

-

Charlie's dozing and thinking about Mac when he next comes in. 

"Phone call for Mr Acapulco?" he says, and when Charlie says he wants to accept it the phone on his wall starts ringing and Mac winks and leaves. 

It's like- well, he's not really sure. Charlie's always been good at pressing the on/off switch for his feelings, because having to shoot someone through a two inch hole in a wall fifty feet away when you can't stop panicking about whether Frank is mad at you does _not_ go well. So there's a ritual - he showers, gets changed and obsessively cleans all of his guns, and he's there. Nothing matters. After a while, he was just kind of able to do it most of the time. Sure, once a panic attack has started he can't just be like _nah, not right now_ so whenever he wakes up panicking he just has to accept it. But there's exceptions to every rule, and that was one of them. Other than that, he's pretty much great at it. 

The positive of this is that there's lots of positives. It's what makes him so good at what he does; no nerves, no anger, no nothing. It means he doesn't rise to Frank's overbearing fathering or annoying clients who try and negotiate pay, both of which result in him getting exactly what he was promised. The negative of this is that when he flicks the switch back and decides it's time to feel stuff, he doesn't really know _how._ As it turns out, getting rid of emotions he doesn't want to deal with means that when he _has_ to deal with them, he can't. From what he can decipher from the ball of _feelings_ that smack him in the face whenever Mac walks in the room is that _some_ part of him in some way is interested in Mac.

Charlie doesn't need any gay emotional analysis to work out that he finds Mac attractive, because Mac is a bearded, scruffy muscular man with a _lot_ of height and in case it wasn't clear, a lot of muscle. It's more than just that, though. One, he really likes talking to Mac. Overall, he doesn't really like interacting with other people, _especially_ new people, but conversation with Mac is easy and he kind of looks forward to whenever the nurse is sleeping because it means Mac is doing the rounds. Sure, he's only been here for about a week, but if Mac proposed he'd probably say yes. Two, there's something _familiar_ about him. This is what's really throwing him. If it was just some stupid crush, then Charlie would get over himself by leaving the hospital and that would be that. It's not, though. There's something else, some weird feeling he doesn't recognise and he can't give up before he works it out. 

"Charlie!" Frank hisses from the screen behind him.

"Dude, what? I- how'd you do that? I didn't pick up the phone?"

"I dunno, the Waitress did it for me. Doesn't matter. You're alone, right?" he says, and the seriousness in his tone is suddenly scary, but Frank doesn't wait for a response. "Wolf King knows you're still alive and he's not done. IED through the window of your LA place, and- shit, Charlie, you ain't gonna like this."

"What's worse than them chucking a fucking _bomb_ in my favourite safehouse?"

"They killed Mittens, buddy."

Charlie swallows, throat painfully dry. "How?"

"I think it's better if I don't tell ya," and that says more than anything.

"I'll kill that fucker," he whispers, voice stone cold serious because he means it. "I'm going to kill him if it's the last thing I do."

Frank sighs down the phone, makes some kind of weird humming noise and sighs again. "I ain't gonna try and talk you outta that- besides, we still got someone willin' to pay a hefty sum for it. Just- for my sake, lay low until you're better. The Nurse gave me call, and you're pretty fuckin' beat up." Charlie says nothing, because he doesn't want to promise anything in case a really good opportunity presents itself. "C'mon, Charlie. For your old man."

"You're my boss, you stupid bitch," he sighs, but he can't help kind of laughing as well, and he hears Frank's ugly chuckle in response. "But fine. Short of Wolf King walkin' into my room and passing me a knife, I won't do anything."

"I'm holdin' you to that, kiddo. Talk soon," Frank says in what's probably supposed to be a stern voice but just sounds warm and kind of tired.

Very, very carefully, he never _promised_ Frank anything. And sure, going after Wolf King right now when he's unprepared, badly beaten and when Wolf King knows he would be coming would be an _awful_ idea. Like, a _there's a 15% chance you'll survive this and that's being optimistic_ level idea. But at the same time, Wolf King does own this hotel - it's his go-to for any serious injury, meaning it's not _unlikely_ for him to show up. Put it this way: Charlie isn't going to go looking for him, but he isn't going to sit around if the opportunity presents itself.

\---

"Do you remember high school?" Dennis asks, just as Charlie was closing his eyes for a nap that he had hoped said _alright Dennis, leave me alone now._

Apparently, Dennis either doesn't get the message or simply doesn't care, because he seems unsatisfied with Charlie's lazy shrug. "Not really, dude. You know that." Charlie remembers snippets, along with the snippets of earlier childhood and his mom, but it's hazy memories at best. He remembers someone else age teen-something huffing glue with him in the bathroom, both of them lazily slumped in the WC cubicle and laughing at everything. He remembers the faces of some of his teachers, and that his locker was 328. He remembers Dennis sat on the other side of his math class, and that's really it.

"I- doesn't it bother you?" he frowns, and Charlie cocks an eyebrow to encourage Dennis to elaborate. "Not being able to remember anything."

"What's being bothered gonna do?" he says, closing his eyes again to signify the conversation is over. And yeah, in reality it does bother him - it bothers him hugely and he dreams about it most nights meaning he thinks about it most days - but at the same time, he's right in saying just thinking about it doesn't bring anything back. 

"Okay, it bothers _me,_ then. You stop coming in to school one day, I don't see you for four years and then suddenly you work for my dad."

"If you wanna uncover my past memories for me, I'm not gonna stop you," he sighs, because there's not much point telling Dennis that he's been asking Frank for years and he's gotten nothing. All Frank has ever disclosed is that one day, he woke up and Charlie was unconscious on his porch. When he woke up, he tried to kill Frank very, very expertly, as if it was muscle memory, and had to be talked into putting the knives down. Frank then, very _frankly,_ told him that he was a business man that dealt with all the things white collars wouldn't dream of. Charlie said he wanted in because he had absolutely nothing else and was apparently very good with a knife, but on his terms only. Frank was bored, so he agreed. Well. Apparently, anyway. Charlie loves Frank and would trust him with his life, but he doesn't really trust him with this. "He's not your dad, anyway. Ex-step-dad at most."

Dennis just shrugs. "Want a beer?"

-

_His heart is pounding, but dream-him is running a mantra of **stay calm, stay calm or you'll scare him** and he desperately wants to know why but there's nothing he can do other than wait. These snippets of his past are literally just memories, not dreams (as far as he's aware) meaning he's completely present in them but all he can do is follow what past-him wants to do. It's annoying, because he's sure if he could maybe look around or look anywhere other than the kid curled up in front of him, he would have a much better idea of what was going on. "You have to go," he's whispering, crouching down in front of the kid and running his fingers through the other boy's hair. His voice is wobbling, breaking slightly._

_From what he can catch a glimpse of in the near-darkness, they're in some kind of closet with women's clothes hanging around them, but it's not somewhere Charlie recognises at all. "I'm not leaving, dude!" the kid sobs into his scruffy jeans, refusing to meet Charlie's eyes._

_"You have to, okay? I'll be fine. Please, dude. Go home," he begs, and and he can feel in his stomach how much he doesn't believe what he's saying. "Please."_

_The kid looks up at him, tears streaming down his face and Charlie's heart aches with how much he doesn't want the kid to leave. "I don't want to leave you, Charlie."_

_"You have to_ _**go**!" he shouts, and his voice cracks-_

and his own shout wakes him up and he's alone in the dark room. His heart is racing like it was in the dream and he feels the same kind of sick he did watching the kid cry in front of him. Certain he isn't going back to sleep any time soon, Charlie braces himself for the pain and sits up, swinging his okay leg and significantly less okay leg around to the side of the bed. Thankfully, the wheelchair is perfectly positioned from the last time Dennis helped him get in to take a piss, and he manages to get in by kind of launching himself off of his good leg. It only hurts a lot. The TV in his room doesn't work, because they never work (it's not like the Nurse can call a cable guy in here, after all.) So, bumping into the door frame at least eight times, he finally manages to make it into the corridor and starts wheeling down to the game room - from memory, the TV in there is hardwired and kind of old, so it should definitely be working. 

When he wheels around the counter, Mac's slumped over the sofa which is entirely too small for him, head half-buried in the crook of his elbow and snoring softly. The TV is playing old re-runs of _Friends_ on low volume, but Charlie doesn't really mind that he can't hear it because the light in here is soft and warm, and Mac's gentle snores kind of just make him smile. So he sits there for an hour or so, half watching the TV and half watching Mac sleep and feeling more at ease than he has all day. 

"You creepin' on me?" Mac mumbles, voice scratchy with sleep and the only thing Charlie wants to hear. He's kind of glad Mac still isn't opening his eyes, because he's gone red in the way that someone who definitely was creeping would have.

"Nah, I couldn't sleep. Figured the Nurse would kick my ass if I had a smoke in my room."

Mac chuckled, and Charlie's very macho, masculine heart melts. "Good call." He stretches out, yawning softly and arching his back slightly in a way that makes his arms flex nicely, and Charlie _really_ needs to get a grip. "She'd probably, like. Kill you or somethin'. I can take you up to the roof if you want, dude."

"No way, really? I never even knew we could get on the roof."

"Well, like. _You_ aren't s'posed to go on the roof. I go on there to reboot the power 'n shit. But like, if we're sneaky we can go."

"Being sneaky is like, my whole job. I'm _great_ at it."

It turns out, even when your broken shin is very nearly healed because modern medicine has come leaps and bounds, it still makes it very hard to be sneaky. Charlie's been in the hospital for about a week - when he was a kid, it took like, two or three months for bones to heal, but that was when the only medicine surrounding broken bones were _casts_ \- and it's very nearly better, but he still can't walk on it without intense pain. The thing with wheelchairs, also, is that whilst it's fun to sneak around in them when you're on a flat surface, but as soon as stairs come into the equation it stops being fun very quickly. 

Embarrassingly, Mac's suggested solution is a piggy-back. Charlie can hardly say _no_ , because he's come this far and Mac in his adorable stupidity truly sees no issue with it. So Charlie lets Mac hoist him up onto his back, even though realistically he could probably walk with some kind of leaning-support, and just spends the short climb listening to Mac hum and admiring how easily the man is supporting his weight.

Fresh air seeps through as soon as Mac (effortlessly, obviously) cracks the roof door open and it makes coming all the way upstairs worth it. The hospital isn't a horrible place or anything - he's had food, a reasonably comfortable bed and enjoyable company - there's just a lack of windows, and most of the rooms kind of smell like someone died in them. Street noise of blurry shouts and speeding cars is just able to be heard, but they're high up enough that it's more of a pleasant background hum. Mac sets him down on a wobbly and weathered camping chair and then stands, staring, as if he's waiting for something.

"Mac, do you- did you _bring_ cigarettes?"

"Oh, what? No."

There's nothing Charlie can do but laugh. They're both fucking idiots, clearly. "Neither did I. They're in my bag back in my room, dude." So Mac grins and promises he'll be like, two seconds before jogging back down the stairs. 

"Okay, Charlie Kelly, you get your _shit_ together, man. The Nurse will _not_ let you fuck her new security man- a-and Frank will never let you hear the end of it," he scolds under his breath. The issue is that he doesn't just want to _fuck_ Mac. That's not really his _thing,_ anyway, cause sex is so messy and it has all these emotions and expectations (he's never understood when Frank wants to call girls over to celebrate stuff, because it isn't fun with people he doesn't know.) The issue is that he _likes_ Mac. He likes the way he looks, yeah, but he likes talking to him, and he likes how funny he is in a stupid way because Charlie's stupid in the same way, and any time he spends with Mac makes him feel all warm and gross in a nice way. 

"Shit," he says, mostly to the dead potted plant a few feet away because he wants _something_ else to acknowledge how fucked he is. 

"Bingo!" Mac cheers, sticking his head around the door before he's even all the way up the stairs like an overexcited kid, waving the cigarettes around. "Didn't realise you were like, an _elitist,_ dude. Marlboro silver?"

Charlie shrugs, holds his hand out for the packet that Mac very expertly throws, and fails to catch it somehow. "S'what my boss smokes, and I can't steal his cigs if I don't like the brand." Mac pulls some kind of face that Charlie doesn't understand, but kind of thinks is funny anyway, so he grins as Mac passes him the packet this time. They smoke in silence for two minutes or so, just listening to the hum of the streets and the distant thunder of the riot somewhere out of sight. Expertly, Mac flicks the butt over the side, snorting when Charlie tries and falls short of several feet. 

"Wanna set me another? Nurse doesn't let me smoke."

"Hm," Charlie ponders, taking out another and rolling it between his fingers. "Depends. Tell me a fact about yourself, and if it's interesting enough I'll give you one."

"Like what?"

"How'd you get this job?"

Mac scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Like you'd ever tell me anything that personal."

"Okay," he reasons, holding out the cigarette anyway, "if you tell me, I'll tell you why I'm in the hospital."

"Sold to the highest bidder," he decides, interest sparking in his eyes as he sticks the cigarette in his mouth. "Alright, but it's not a very nice story.

I got kicked out when I was like, seventeen - don't look at me like that, 'cause I'm _definitely_ not telling you 'bout it - and started crashing on the street with this older guy I knew, Cricket, and he introduced me to this other street rat my age. We pissed around robbing corner stores and selling pot for a little extra cash for a year or so when we first heard of the Wolf King." Mac pauses, takes a deep breath and turns to stop looking at Charlie. Instead he's watching over the streets of Los Angeles, the soft glow barely illuminating his face but showing his eyebrows knitted with some kind of sadness all the same. "The _Wolf King_ of LA. Imagine being eighteen, just two stupid homeless kids, and hearing that the biggest crime lord in Los Angeles wants to meet you?" he sighs, even though Charlie doesn't really have to imagine it. "We lost our fuckin' minds - not that we ever met him in person, 'course. It was some guy, but he was legit, and he asked us to pass along a package for him with _double pay_ if we promised not to look inside. And this was like, near Wolf King's peak, where bodies would wash up on South Bay or Santa Monica every other day, so we didn't risk that shit. And he gave us a grand for passing it on! I'd never even _seen_ that much cash in real life, let alone _held_ it in my hands. He gave us a grand for it, and a burner phone each in case we wanted to help out again." Charlie wants to speak up, to ask questions, but the smile on Mac's face is so sad that he can't bring himself to. 

"For a solid ten months, it was great. We bought a fucking apartment with the money we were raking in, enough money that we were livin' _comfortably_ , and Wolf King owned all the cops in LA so any time we got busted it would just- just go away. Y'know how it is, though. Nothing lasts forever." The pause feels like Mac's giving him the option to cut in, to say 'okay, cool story, thanks for sharing' and move on with the conversation, but Charlie doesn't want to. If Mac wants to tell him the whole story then you best believe he'll be listening. "I went to my cash stash to buy a pair of shoes I had my eye on, and there was a chunk of it missing from under my bed. I confronted my buddy about it, but he brushed me off- and I believed him, y'know? 'Cause we were both making so much, why would he steal my shit? But it kept happening, until one time I had to hustle new customers just to make rent because all the cash in the apartment was gone." 

Sensing something is needed for Mac to focus on, he wordlessly holds out another Malboro, which the man accepts with a nod and forced smile. "My buddy'd started opening the packages from the Wolf King, and now he was hooked on ice. Don't know if you've ever met an ice addict, but I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't."

Charlie shrugs, shaking his head because he knows the general attitude surrounding meth addicts. "Molly addicts lose weight but meth addicts die, right?"

Mac chuckles, but it's empty and humourless, and Charlie thinks this is the first time he's seen him not smiling. "Promised he'd get help and all that- and y'know, I think he was kinda serious about it. Cleaned up, relapsed bad and seemed like he was gonna clean up for real this time. And then he smashed through the window of a Porsche 911 and stole it so he could afford to pick up." A deep, shuddering sigh escapes his mouth as he squeezes his eyes shut before continuing. "Turns out that was one of Wolf King's favourite cars. And you know how he feels about people stealing his stuff." Charlie's lost hits, acquaintances and a few friends this way. Everyone knows. "Turned up dead on the beach, obviously."

Charlie swallows, reaches for the rickety plastic chair and pulls it close to his. "Sit, Mac." And Mac sits, glaring at the skyline as if the city was the one that took everything from him. Charlie bumps his shoulder, gently enough that he can ignore it, but the other man settles against his shoulder in comfort. 

"I tried to keep shotting for the Wolf King to make ends meet, but I looked an addict in the eyes and saw my buddy every time and I stopped. Chucked the burner phone when they kept calling and slept rough in different places, moving away whenever there was violence or stuff around me - I just wanted out. But, one night, I was sleeping under the bridge and I heard these two riot police yelling and shouting."

"Fuck the riot police, man."

"Exactly, man! So I thought I would check it out, and Everest was like, pinned by them and one of them had a gun on him even though he was yelling like _'I'm just doing the bins, I'm putting the fucking bins out!'_ I smacked the gun away and shoved one of them away, and- I was a skinny bitch, so he was only down for a second, but that was all Everest needed. It was pretty sick, to be honest. He was all like, _bam, pow!_ And they were both unconscious on the floor. 

It was probably, like, super obvious on my face that I'd just picked this new guy as my idol, which in hindsight was probably really awkward. But when he was all like _okay kid, go home_ and I was like _well, home is kinda under this bridge_ and he was like _oh shit, it's not safe down here_. He said his boss would have his balls if he let me in, but he'd let the ladder down for me to sleep on the roof if I needed. And I did, for like a fucking year. I never saw the Nurse 'cause she never leaves the building, but Everest would come up at dawn every day and work out for hours, and like show me what to do and stuff."

"Is that how you got so- uh, I mean," is all Charlie gets out before realising he's kind of about to hit on Mac. 

"What, swole?" he grins, flexing his arms. "Yeah, dude. He was a man of very, _very_ few words, but he was a sweetheart." The smile drops again. Charlie's in awe of how beautifully _expressive_ the man's face always is, because he's never seen anything like it. Dennis has the best poker face in the world, and Frank and Dee always look pissed off. Everyone in his world keeps their emotions strictly hidden away, presented as an afterthought even between friends. But Mac is so open, joy warming his smile and crinkling around his eyes whenever he shows Charlie a puppy video or something even simpler than that. It's so refreshing and _free,_ every time Mac laughed lighting up the room. But on the flipside, any time there was an absence of a smile, his face just looked wrong. Like there was something missing.

"One time he didn't come up in the morning, so I climbed down and there he was, bullet in his head slumped on the alley. And nobody moved his body or nothin'. So I went out and put my blanket on him, 'cause on the floor he just looked really cold 'n small. The next day, I show up with these flowers that I thought he would've liked them, and the vault door opens a crack."

-

_"Who the fuck're you?" croaked a voice from the crack, but in the daylight it was impossible to see inside._

_"I'm- uh, I came 'cause I thought he'd still be here."_

_There was a cough, the sound of the door chain pulling slightly as it was opened a little more. "They took 'im. How'd you know him?"_

_Mac shifted on his feet, hearing riot police sirens a few blocks away. Given his past experiences, he almost definitely should not trust this mysterious woman, and he was almost certain she would kick him off the roof if she realised he'd been staying up on her roof for nearly a year. But in a way, he felt like he owed it to Everest. "He's been lettin' me stay on the roof so the riot police don't kick my skull in. We would do the morning workout together 'n stuff."_

_"I saw ya on the camera. With the blanket." There was more shuffling._

_"I really liked the guy," was Mac's only explanation, because he did. "He was sweet and he didn't deserve to die like that."_

_"He was kinda all I had," she sighed, and her voice was thick with emotion that Mac couldn't even begin to understand. "Like, seriously. I'm tryna be sentimental here, but he was also my security guy, and this business is gonna kill me without security."_

_Mac took a deep breath, because what the hell - the worst thing she could say was no. "You need a replacement, then?"_

_There was a thirty second pause, and the vault door slammed suddenly. Well. At least he tried. And she hadn't told him he couldn't stay on the roof anymore - besides, Everest had told him she was an agoraphobic alcoholic, so it wasn't like she was going to check._

_But then, there was the noise of several chains clunking against the metal door and it creaks open, just enough for Mac and his duffel bag to slip through. Inside was a barren and dimly lit stone corridor, but the woman was what surprised him more. She was tiny, barely scraping five foot four, quite chipper for someone in her probably-late-fifties and dressed in what looked like oversized nurse scrubs._

_"I run a dark room. It's a secret hospital for criminals. Worst of the worst, sometimes. You help me enforce the rules and cart everyone's drugs around when I'm sleeping, I'll give you bed, board, and spending money. Capisce?"_

_Mac said "Capisce," and never looked back._

_-_

"Impressive origin story, dude," Charlie hums, lighting another cigarette for himself because why the hell not.

"What can I say? I'm a man of depth- but hey, it's _definitely_ your turn now. I've just told you my whole fucken' life story."

Charlie grins at him, nearly chokes on the exhale but keeps grinning anyway. "I tried to kill the Wolf King."

"You fuckin' _what_?" he gawps, dropping his lit cigarette onto his knee and singeing a hole in his dark blue scrubs. "Now the fifty-fucken-million stab wounds make _so_ much sense."

"Nah, nah- listen. I have _never_ fucked up. I've _never been caught,_ Mac. But after months of planning, he wasn't where he was supposed to be, where he was at the same time every _single_ Tuesday." Charlie's speeding up now, probably looking a bit weird because of how into this he is, but he can't help it. "What is the _only_ logical conclusion from that? Hm?"

"Dude, someone totally ratted you out!! There's a snitch in the midst!" Mac responds, and the spiders in Charlie's stomach won't stop crawling around at Mac returning the same excitable energy. "That's crazy, dude."

It's like they were made to talk to each other- or, or something less gay than that. 

-

"Dee's awake," someone says right next to his half asleep ear, and it wakes him up completely. The someone is Dennis, deep bags under his eyes and bleeding nails from biting on his nine fingers, but Charlie doesn't even have time to ask him if he's alright before he's helping Dennis help him into a wheelchair. Nerves bubble in his stomach like acid, because he hasn't seen Dee at all since he arrived and- he doesn't know how to put the fear into words, but he's looking at the burn scars that wrap round his bicep now his sleeve is rolled up, remembering the destroyed skin on his back and him saying _Dee was a lot closer than I was_. What if she like, doesn't have any eyes anymore? 

"How long's she been up?" he manages to ask, voice still crusty with sleep but mind racing.

"Hour or so. Said she wanted to see you. You ready?" he asks, stopping Charlie's wheelchair right outside the Honolulu suite. He doesn't trust himself to speak without saying something stupid so he just nods, tightens his knuckles on the wheels as Dennis puts his thumb up against the lock. It whirs, several clicking noises indicating the unlocking before it starts to slowly open and Charlie wheels through with Dennis' help.

Dee's propped up on about five pillows, drinking some kind of thick medicine with a straw. It makes Charlie think of the banana-flavoured antibiotics he half-remembers being given as a kid. The angry red skin covering a third of her face and the darkness of her right eye make him want to be a kid again. 

"Where the fuck've you been?" she croaks, all words and no energy behind them. "Dennis'll never admit it, but he's really missed ya."

"I could say the same to you," he smirks, but it doesn't seem real with the ways his eyes are watering slightly.

"Y'like the new look?" she hums, holding out the less burned arm and twisting it around in the air, as if she were just wearing a new bracelet. Charlie doesn't know what to say. "Did he tell you I can only half-see?" She indicates towards the dark eye with the wrong hand, and he almost doesn't want to ask what's wrong with the other one. "A sub-whatever hemorrhage," she clarifies. "No more Dennis and Dee."

Dennis is staring intensely at the floor. "You told me you could crack safes with your eyes closed, dude," tries Charlie.

"Yeah, but I dunno about only one hand." She lifts her left arm, where there's still blood seeping through the bandages, and her wrist hangs limply. "Too much nerve damage."

"Fuck," he says softly, because what else are you supposed to say?

"You'll be able to do it with one hand," Dennis finally speaks up, voice thick but steady. "I know you can."

Dee rolls her eyes and mutters something about telling him to fuck off, but she's smiling anyway. "So," she drawls, sipping at her cup with the straw. "I heard you tried to kill the Wolf King?"

And, just like that, it's back to normal. If Charlie were to close his eyes, it would be like they were all sat around Frank's ugly coffee table again, smoking a joint and taking the piss out of each other. It was almost like there hadn't ever been a car bomb or assassination gone wrong - instead, they were all sat like most Friday nights, making fun of how bad Dee was at poker or Frank's ridiculous stories from Vietnam. It was stuff like those nights that made Charlie not worry about not remembering his mom or any other family, 'cause he didn't really need another one. Peace floats in and he actually kind of relaxes, listening to the twins bicker for the next hour or so and occasionally interjecting to take the piss of either one of them. It's shit like this that makes him happy.

However. God, or the whatever-the-fuck all-powerful being is in the sky, clearly isn't done with Charlie yet, because he's been half-dozing while Dee goes on about something or other when Dennis interrupts to say, "You don't look too good, man." Absentmindedly he realises he's shivering, that the room is suddenly the coldest place in the world, so cold that it's making his chest hurt whenever he breathes. Seemingly without moving, Dennis is suddenly right next to him, hand against his neck to feel his pulse and so hot Charlie feels like he's being burnt. "Dee, press the call button."

"What's wrong with me?" he hears himself ask, and only after he's said it does he realise how short of breath he is, how much it hurts to keep pulling in air. The room had only been gently wobbling at first, but now he takes refuge in hiding his face in his hands because it's spinning at sixty miles an hour and he's realistically _this_ close to vomiting. He really, honestly can't breathe.

Without warning his chair starts moving, and there's a shot in his neck that makes him feel even more woozy - in the back of his mind, he thinks he hears the nurse and Mac shouting to one another, but it could be a dream for all he knows. There's an oxygen mask on his face, maybe?

Mac picks him up to move him to a bed that's materialised out of nowhere, says "Don't you fuckin' die," and then there's nothing there.

-

When he wakes up, he can breathe again. Weirdly, he's lying eagle-spread on the bed in just a pair of sweats, the left side of his chest aching but more in a just-had-surgery way than a you're-gonna-die way. Mac's sat at the end of his bed, watching intently and giving a wary smile when Charlie finally meets his eyes. 

"Your chest kinda rejected your new lung, dude. Don't try getting up - you're on a shit ton of sedatives, anyway."

Charlie shifts slightly, feels the painful tugging in his chest but also feels separated from it, and _definitely_ feels the painkillers swirling around in his head. "D'I ever tell you my name?"

Mac smiles, sincere, but shakes his head. "You don't have to if you don't wanna."

"Charlie," he announces, pushing away the mantra of _bad idea bad idea bad idea_ rolling around his head like a broken record player. "Charlie motherfuckin' Kelly, dude. Tha's me." For just a second, there's a flash of an expression he's struggling to decipher, but it's gone before he can even be sure it's there. Then, incredibly sadly, Mac squeezes his hand. Why does he look so sad? "Don't be sad," he instructs, squinting as if that will stop the room from slightly swaying. "Why're you sad, man?"

"'m not sad," Mac promises, clearly very sad, but Charlie doesn't have the brainpower to offer a sufficient argument, so he squeezes Mac's hand back and closes his eyes again. 

-

_This memory isn't like any of the other memories. If it wasn't for the knowing pit of feeling in his stomach, he would insist it had to be a dream, but it isn't. He knows._

_He's in some kind of barren room, a slightly bloodstained mattress in the corner of the room and black tape over the only window. Where the fuck is he? Why was he ever in a place like this? There's a door, but memory-him isn't making any attempt to leave the room - he's fucking starving, though, and that's suggesting to him that he's locked in here. Looking down, his knuckles are bloodied and swollen with an expertly applied bandage on his right hand. Charlie's right-handed, which means that someone else applied this bandage. Resting loosely on top of it is a bracelet that looks the same material of a hospital bracelet, but instead of any patient information there's a bunch of numbers and the letters 'WK.' Judging from his physique and size (not that there's a mirror in here,) he's maybe somewhere around eighteen?_

_This is the first time he's ever had a memory outside of his childhood home, anywhere above the age of sixteen._

_Footsteps echo somewhere outside the door, as if a long corridor, and memory-Charlie's heart starts racing in an overly terrified way. He looks around for a weapon, something or **anything** to protect himself with, but there's nothing. It seems purposeful. The footsteps get closer at almost a taunting pace, and nausea starts creeping up his throat. Who the fuck is he expecting that's freaking him out so much?_

_The sound of a bolt opening pierces the silence, and the wooden door creaks open._

_-_

Charlie wakes up with a sudden breath, sending shooting pains through his chest - _obviously_ \- and alerting the Nurse, who seems to have been dozing in the chair next to his bed. 

"Morning, kiddo. Well done for not dying," she drawls, yawning and stretching before slowly rising to her feet. "Fingers crossed, this lung'll wanna stay in your body." His chest is still bare, and she laughs when he squirms at the cold press of the stethoscope against his skin. "Doesn't sound too bad," she says, listening to a few different bits of his lung and nodding in what Charlie can only assume is a medically professional way, "but I wanna know what you did to my security man."

Charlie frowns, cracking his knuckles on his good hand against the rail of the bed. What the fuck does she mean? Exerting any effort at all causes him varying levels of pain, so he waits until she gets the message from his expression and rolls her eyes. "Don't be givin' me that look. Hour with you, the kid comes out all mopey. Spent his break on the roof smoking, which he only does when he's feelin' _real_ angsty."

"I have no fuckin' idea," he croaks out, and she passes him the water with a semi-sympathetic expression. "Lemme talk to him?"

"Not if you're gonna break him anymore," she sighs, mock-wagging her finger at him. "I'll make him bring you dinner or somethin', but I mean it. Mac ain't gonna scare anyone away with that puppy-dog look on his face." She tucks away her stethoscope and goes about changing the bandage wrapped around his chest, spraying it with what seems like liquid concrete - Frank keeps this shit under his sink for when Charlie cuts his fingers doing something stupid, and it burns for about thirty seconds before sealing any injury completely. Sure, the wonders of modern medicine and all that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a bitch when she sprays it. 

" **External call** _,_ " says the computer, a muted beeping repeating through Charlie's room that the Nurse seems to be dutifully ignoring. Mid re-bandage process, Mac lets himself in to Charlie's room and holds the phone to her ear. Weirdly, he busies himself rearranging the cupboard in Charlie's room that he's not allowed access to instead of chatting or even making eye contact, so Charlie lets his head slump back onto his pillows. The Nurse is making non-committal noises, tapping her foot impatiently. 

"That's too far out," she says, but she doesn't sound as assertive as normal. "I won't hold the room if someone- yeah." Another pause, and if Charlie strains he can hear someone shouting down the line. "Against the rules, and if I go breaking the rules, then- alright." More shouting. "Your daddy knows the rules better than anyone. Yeah. We'll see." More shouting again, but she's hanging up before they're finished. "Looks like the king of LA is en route."

Mac drops something, and pills scatter across the floor. Surely she can't mean- 

"Goddamnit, Mac, how-" she starts, catching on to the look on Charlie's face. "What'd you do?"

"Wolf King did this to me," he whispers, throwing a hand through knotted hair. "I've gotta go." Mac stops fussing whatever the fuck he's doing in the cupboard and appears at the end of the bed, waiting for the Nurse to react.

"You can't _go_ , you fuckin' idiot. You had a lung transplant like _four_ hours ago. If you leave the hospital I can _comfortably_ say that you're gonna die."

"If Wolf King finds me here, he _will_ kill me. He knows I'm still alive. He killed my fuckin' cat."

"I can't promise that you're safe in here, kiddo. Wolf King put his thumb on all of the suites when he gave me the place. Only places he can't get in are the roof, my bathroom, or-"

"My room," Mac says, finally speaking, finally looking at Charlie. "He might think to look in your room, Jeanie. If we can get Charlie _into_ my room, he won't look." The Nurse sighs, scrunches her face in her hands and looks at Charlie's slightly mangled form. "I'll carry him."

"Do I get a say in this?" he cuts in, trying and kind of embarrassingly failing to prop himself up on his elbows. "I don't wanna put you guys at risk!"

"Shut up," dismisses the Nurse. "Orian's ETA is 52 minutes from that call. Shot to the neck but stable, so unless he starts crashin' suddenly, he _will_ be here. Let's move him now."

"Warn Dennis and Dee," he instructs, then "Honolulu suite," just to make sure they both know what to do. Dee might be better enough for them to leave, which is the only way they can truly be safe. 

Effortlessly, Mac scoops him up into his arms, hooking the IV with his elbow and pulling it along. Charlie is an overwhelming mix of emotions, so he decides not to pay attention to any of them and just focuses on the blood rushing through his head and the steady beating of Mac's heart in his chest. "See, there's benefits to being a tiny man," Mac teases, which is relieving because it's the first thing he's directly said to him, but his tone is still off and tinged with something sad. Charlie would give literally anything to know what was wrong, but he can hardly push at Mac when he's carrying him bridal-style to safety, so he half-laughs and lets Mac carry him in his weird, sad silence. 

"Can you stand up for a sec? This lock shit is complicated," Mac frowns, and Charlie shrugs but gestures to be put down anyway, because he'll be damned if he isn't going to give it a go. They stand together for a second with Charlie slumped onto Mac's back whilst he sticks a key in and presses several parts of the door that turn out to be buttons, and it works conveniently until the door swings open. This is when Charlie's nose starts bleeding and his knees give way simultaneously - nice one, body - and he's _this_ close from smashing his head on the door frame before Mac catches him by the scruff of his t-shirt. "Fuckin' hell, Charlie."

"When did I have a shirt?" is the thought his two brain cells decide is imprtant to voice.

"'s mine, you put it on before I picked you up," Mac says like it should be obvious, pouting at the blood splattered over the GYM AND TONIC lettering. "Can you stop fuckin' dying for like, four seconds?" he begs. Charlie just shrugs, holding the wad of bandages Mac produces from his pocket against his nose with shaky hands; meanwhile, Mac is trying his best to pull the door closed without dropping Charlie or getting any blood on the carpet. 

Either Mac teleports multiple times, or Charlie blacks out momentarily, but suddenly he's laying on a bed with pillows supporting his back and his nose blood is dripping into a bowl on his lap. The room is a little bigger than any of the hospital suites, but it seems much more lived in. There's a few picture frames hung lopsidedly on the walls, along with movie posters that Charlie only partially recognises and a much nicer TV. "Sorry, dude," he sighs, voice thick with blood that's apparently in his mouth. "Thanks for this."

"'course, man. I'm not gonna leave you out there." And that really sad smile is back, like he pities Charlie for everyone else being in on a joke other than him. Charlie wants to know the joke. "The toilet's just round there - if you need a hand, call me. Wolf King isn't gonna find you unless he tests all the cupboards for secret doors, knows what shit to do to unlock them, steals the key from my neck and cuts my thumb off."

"So, there's a realistic chance he's gonna find me," he reasons, and Mac laughs for a second but then nods, kind of defeated. 

"Worst case scenario, there's a gun strapped underneath the left side of the bed. Do _not_ pull it out on me. I don't care how cool you think you are, I'll kick your ass." Charlie covers his mouth so Mac doesn't see him smirking. "I'll let you know it's me as soon as the door closes every time I'm comin' in, alright? Now, I think your nose's stopped bleeding, so you should rest. I need to go pretend that you aren't here, 'cause Wolf King ETA is about fifteen minutes." 

Charlie watches him leave, waits for the door to lock before wiping the last of the blood with the already ruined t-shirt and lying back against the pillows. 

There's something in the back of his mind telling him that Mac isn't just a friendly replacement for Everest that he may or may not have a small amount of feelings for. Some tiny box in the back of his mind, behind the door of memories-before-Frank that he's never been able to open before is leaking now. And when he thinks about Mac, he doesn't _feel_ new. And the look on his face when Charlie told him his last name wasn't any normal expression with a reasonable explanation - but surely if he knew, he would say something?

\---

_He's in the barren room from his memory, but this is a dream. He knows because it starts the same way as all of his recent nightmares, with freezing cold water waking him up. But this time he isn't strapped to a chair or restrained in any way - when the blindfold slips off, he's stood upright and barefoot on bloodied concrete floor, one of his own knives in his fist and fingers slick with blood._

_"Imagine that," the voice whispers, and Charlie knows it's the Wolf King even though he doesn't seem to be in the room. "Imagine letting me into your dreams. What a mistake it would be, letting me reign over your mind." Dread is pouring out of his eyes. He doesn't want to turn around and look at the rest of the room. "Look what I made you do."_

_Dennis is slumped against the back wall, half-cradling Dee and petting her hair whilst tears track some of the blood from her face. Her throat is slit, the kind where it's grusome and you die instantly. Dennis is bleeding from a nasty gash in his stomach, holding his sister and looking at Charlie like his eyes are burning into his soul. The look says **how could you do this to us.** I didn't want to, he tries to tell him, but when he opens his mouth all that spills out is blood. _

_"Don't you ever worry that one day you'll just... **snap**?" _

_Charlie screws his eyes shut, wants the voice out of his head or the knife out of his hands but it won't leave his grip no matter how hard he tries. When he looks up again, in Dennis' place is Frank, bleeding out onto the floor and muttering some shit about how he never, ever should have trusted someone like him. What a mistake that was._

_Get **out** of my fuckin' **head** , he screams, only no noise comes out at all. Instead, more blood spills from his mouth until he's choking, until he falls to his knees. _

" _What did you do?"_ _he hears from in front of him, and Mac is stood there, staring down at the bodies he's left in his wake. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Charlie comes to his feet, begging Mac to listen to words he can't choke out of his mouth. Mac has to know this isn't his fault, that he doesn't have any control over this, but when he takes a step closer Mac backs up against the wall. "Don't come anywhere **near** me."_

_Charlie feels himself stepping forward despite Mac's instruction, feeling sick at the mixture of disgust and terror painted on his face. His heart is pounding in his chest, all he can hear as his body steps towards Mac against his will. Please, please don't make me do this, he can't say. He tries to squeeze his eyes shut but they burn open._

_"Do it," comes the whisper, and the knife he can't put down lunges forward and expertly slits Mac's throat._

_-_

Charlie's own hoarse shouts is what wakes him up, and he can't help choking on his own breath as he re-establishes his surroundings. He's not in that room, he's in Mac's bedroom, and no matter how much he can still _feel_ the blood on his hands, there's not any there. 

"I heard yelling, what- oh," says Mac from where he's half run out of the bathroom, wet hair from the shower and plaid pajama bottoms. Charlie thinks about how he was dead on the floor in front of him thirty seconds ago and waves him away, nestling his fingers in his hair and pulling on it in attempt to ground himself. "Dude, deep breaths. Wanna squeeze my hand?" he offers, and even though Charlie desperately wants _something_ to feel safe, the idea of touching someone who he just killed in cold blood makes him feel sick. So he shakes his head, listens to Mac's breathing next to his ear and tries his best to copy it. After a minute, he realises that Mac's exaggerating his breathing so he can echo it, and a wave of emotion overwhelms him. Why does Mac _care_ so much? "If you wanna hug or a drink or whatever, just tell me," Mac murmurs, clearly trying his best not to touch Charlie and that's what pushes him over the edge, makes him lean forward and wrap his arms around the other man's neck. Mac shifts, stands up slightly so he can sit himself on the bed before hugging him back, his arms a steady weight around Charlie's torso. 

Rocking him gently, Mac lets Charlie calm down with his face buried in the crook of his neck and doesn't even complain that Charlie's probably making his t-shirt all gross. But then, Mac's fingers graze the back of his neck and he's sent hurtling back to being nine years old and sick with the flu while his mom coddled him in bed. The movement is exactly the same, too specific to be chance.

"You know me," he accuses, words nearly lost in the fabric of Mac's t-shirt but they make the other man freeze anyway. Slowly, Mac pulls away, an unreadable expression on his face. "Mac," he pleads.

"I- it's-" is all Mac gets out, frantically pushing his hair out of his face. "How d'you know that?"

"My mom," he half-chokes out, phantom fingers on the back of my neck. "My mom used to do that thing with my hair- the thing you just did, when- when I was upset as a kid, and it's- how else did you know?" he rambles. Mac stays silent, so he pushes on. "You feel so- so _familiar_ , like I've known you my whole life, except I haven't, except I _might_ have 'cause I can't remember anything from- from- _please_ fucking say something, dude."

"Yeah," Mac finally whispers, barely loud enough to hear. "Yeah, I knew you."

"Why can't I remember?"

"I don't know what happened to you, man," he sighs, and he's smiling even though his eyes are sad. It hurts Charlie's chest. "You just... never came back."

"I have no idea about _anything_. I don't even really know how old I am. I know I'm twenty-somethin', I know I went to the same highschool as Dennis but we weren't friends, I know my mom's name was Bonnie and I know I woke up on Frank's porch three years ago and suddenly had the skillset of fucking Deadshot."

Mac hands him the glass of water and gets up, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "You're twenty-seven and your birthday is February ninth," he eventually says, rummaging around in one of the drawers next to the TV and not looking at Charlie. "We were, uh- we were friends when we were kids. For like, years." Mac brings over a slightly crumpled piece of paper, scanning Charlie's face uncertainly before handing it to him. It's a photograph of two tweenagers holding beers and grinning at the camera with _M+C age 14_ scrawled on the back. 

The kid in all of his memories is completely and undeniably Mac. 

"Oh my god," because holy _fuck_. "How didn't I- _fuck_. Did you- I mean, when did you realise?"

"I had like, a weird feeling when you arrived, but not until you told me your name. I looked for you for so long, dude," he says, and he's crying a little bit. "Everything was fine, and we were gonna drop out of school together and run a bar together."

"What happened?"

Mac shrugs, sits back down on the bed and stares at the photo for a while. "I don't know, man. I came over one night and you told me I had to go because someone was coming and I left, and I never saw you again until a couple weeks ago." 

"Tell me all the shit I don't remember," he begs, and Mac checks the time - 3:29AM - before lying back on the bed next to Charlie. And he does; he talks about huffing glue in the toilets in high school, about stealing beers from shitty corner stores and throwing the bottles at the cars of the kids who made fun of them. Charlie's listening, obviously, because Mac is retelling his childhood and he's never heard the story before, but he's also just looking at Mac.

Mac, in this new light but not new at all. Warm in a sense of deep familiarity, the butterflies in his stomach a mixture of new budding feelings and something older and much deeper. Charlie can't _really_ remember the things he's being told, but he can resonate with them; he can't remember the night they sat on the roof of their school and smoked pot until they couldn't get down, but he remembers the fuzzy way it made him feel, the way his stomach turned when Mac held his hands to help him jump down. Mac, who taught him karate when Charlie still hadn't hit his growth spurt and the older kids used to shove him around. Mac, who was everything, Charlie's whole world, and now he's back and Charlie _knows_ he can't ever let him leave again.

Exactly why, he's not sure, but the look of the soft glow of the lamp on Mac's smiling face decides it for him, and Charlie leans forward and kisses him. 

For just a second, time stops. Mac freezes and pulls away after a second, blinking at him with wide eyes. "Are you sure?" he whispers, searching his face for any sight of uncertainty. Charlie just holds the eye contact, hopes it's conveying that he's never been more sure of anything in his life. And then a grin cracks on his face, wide and warm and leaning in again and this time he kisses back. "I always- when we were kids- it was always you," he says in between kisses. Charlie wants to say _me too_ , wants to tell him that the feelings came back even when the memories didn't, and that them finding their way back to each other means they're supposed to be together forever. But that's super gay, and Charlie hates talking about his feelings so instead he threads his finger through Mac's hair and kisses him like his life depends on it. 

"I should sleep," Mac says, pressing their foreheads together. Charlie doesn't think he's been this happy like, ever. 

(When he's woken up four hours later by an alarm blaring and Mac rushing out of bed, he's a little less happy.)

-

"The Wolf King asked if you were here," Mac announces as the door locks behind him. Charlie hates being at this kind of disadvantage. The new stitched-up cuts on his chest restrict his movement quite a lot - he's limited to very slow, very small movements without pain, and pretty much everything makes him out of breath - and coupled with his still healing leg, he has like, 60% mobility. That's not the end of the world, all things considered (he even thinks his vision is improving slightly in the eye that came out of his face) but in terms of potentially entering a kill-or-be-killed situation with the Wolf King, he is going to lose. Also, it's just disheartening to have Mac come back after his Busy Day of Doing Multiple Things when it took him four hours to shower earlier. 

"What'd he say?"

"He asked me if I knew a Mr Charlie Kelly and called you a 'wee little bearded man'. I said I recognised the name but like, didn't really know who it was."

"Smart," because the Wolf King likely knows everything about everyone in LA, and if Mac had lied and straight up said no that could've given him away. "You okay?"

"I think, if his son and like, fifteen of his men didn't have the hotel surrounded, I would fuckin' kill that bastard," Mac hums, pulling his scrubs over his head and groping around for a t-shirt. "I don't even think he remembers killing my buddy."

"Believe me, if I wasn't fuckin' _broken_ , I would've killed him already," he mutters darkly, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Mac get changed. "I miss my cat so much, man. Mittens was like, the bestest friend you could've ever had."

"I know, dude. Cats are the shit," he sighs, giving up on the t-shirt and padding over to the bed in just a loose pair of sweats. "Karma is like, one-hundo percent real, though. He's gonna get what's fuckin' coming to him." Charlie personally isn't a strong karma believer, but Mac sounds so certain that it's reassuring anyway, so instead of protesting he edges his way over to the other side of the bed. Mac elbows him (gently) before rolling his eyes and wrapping an arm around him, tucking him close to his chest. "It's weird, like- this doesn't feel new." Charlie makes a lazy noise of affirmation, already dozing, and hopes that the rumble in Mac's chest from his quiet talking will lull him to sleep. "Lights," he calls, and the room turns dark. "It should be like, like a new relationship, right?"

"Mm. All shit and awkward."

"Yeah, you get it, dude. It's not, though. It's kinda just like when we were kids, but with _loads_ more kissing." As if to prove his point, Mac presses his lips to Charlie's forehead, and he feels his half-asleep heart explode. How the fuck did he ever forget something like _this_? What happened to him? Having a true hold on the majority of his childhood, things that he'd only ever seen in blurry dreams and one or two torn photographs, was _incredible_ , but it almost made the rest of it scarier. Why did he make Mac leave? Who was coming that he was that worried for his safety? Where did he go, if he never came home again? What happened to make him forget?

Suddenly, the hand is at the back of his neck again, softly threading through his hair. "You think loud," Mac whispers, and Charlie lets himself completely relax into his warm body. "Sleep now."

\---

' _Duck now, then when he's lurched forward swipe his leg out from underneath him' is the only thought train he can grasp hold of, as his body seems to act on muscle memory and bring the masked guy to the floor. Before he can even comprehend what he's done, he's pulling a knife from where it's sheathed under his t-shirt and plunging it into the man's chest. Silence flattens the room as Charlie watches the man bleed out onto the mat underneath them. And then, applause._

_"Well done, kiddo. But now I want you to do it in half the time," says the Wolf King from where he's lazily watching at the side of the room, slouched in a deck chair with men either side of him. Another man runs at him from seemingly nowhere, and Charlie lets his instincts take over and he's dead on the floor beneath him before he registers what's going on. More applause._

_The worst thing is, this isn't a dream. He's disgustingly certain that this is a memory._

_"We'll make a perfect weapon outta you yet."_

_-_

The bed is empty when Charlie wakes up with a gasp, which isn't all too surprising. Mac comes and goes.

"Long time no see," the Wolf King drawls from where he's leaning up against Mac's chest of drawers, loosely twirling a pistol in his free hand and gripping his cane in the other. Instantly, Charlie's hand gropes under the bed for the pistol, but the gun's pointed at him before he finds it. "Oh, come on, kiddo - we go way back! There's no need for all this shooting and killing malarkey. Besides, if you're looking for the gun that was under the bed, it's right here." Charlie swallows, moves back into a sitting position and starts looking for his way out. "Now, of _course_ I don't wanna shoot you. Be a doll and make this easier for both of us. Don't try anything _silly_ , alright?"

"What'd you do with Mac?"

"You two lovebirds are just the _cutest_ , honestly. Shame he's such a terrible liar. Put up one hell of a fight, though." Inside, something in Charlie breaks, but he puts his everything into keeping his face blank. The Wolf King can't hit a nerve if he doesn't have any.

"What'd you do with me? 'n why can't I remember shit?" he asks, keeping the tone light in order to keep the conversation constant and hopefully spot a miraculous way out of the room before Wolf King gets bored and shoots him. 

"Oh Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," he sighs, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. "You were the perfect human weapon."

"Weapon? I- what the _fuck_ d'you mean? Why _me_?"

This is awarded with a laugh, friendly, which makes it all the more bitter. "Why _not_? I never chose you. I chose a kid that nobody would miss, with an alcoholic mom who'd take payment without hassle. I didn't pick you- I _made_ you." There's a glass of water on the nightstand. If he times this right, he might be able to smash it against the corner and throw a shard at his neck. "However, I made the mistake of letting you go. The drugs were supposed to make you subservient, but they made you stupid; you weren't loyal, you were a blank slate. So I chucked you to the outside world; I knew Frank Reynolds was looking for a new business venture, so I sent you. May as well have stuck a bow on your head."

"Why not just kill me then?" 

"I was bored," he grins, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "I was bored, and you were interesting. I always figured you'd end up corruptible, or on the wrong side of the law too many times and therefore indebted to _moi_. But no, you had to go and develop all these morals. And then, the cherry on top, you tried to kill _me_."

"The Waitress?" he asks, because why didn't it occur to him before?

"Ever the quick thinker," he confirms, toying with the pistol as if it's some shitty plastic toy. "Came to me asking for a hefty sum of several million in exchange for some information on an attempt on my life. Low and behold, there you were." He leans closer, as if amused by the expression on Charlie's face. "Don't pout, kid. I killed her as soon as you were done."

"So what, you gonna kill me now?"

He sighs, letting his head fall backwards and closing his eyes. Charlie smashes the glass and expertly throws a shard towards his neck. It's a sure shot, except the Wolf King deflects it with the pistol, which remains pointed at Charlie instead of loosely hanging by his side. "Though it pains me to _waste_ such a good science project, I don't think I have a choice. That naughty little attempt on my life shows that you're not gonna change, and I **know** how skilled you are, 'cause I taught you. One of these days I'm not gonna see it coming. Only one of us is leaving this room alive, Charlie," he frowns, cocking the gun. "And I'm disappointed to say it's not gonna be you. To think, we could've been such a good team!"

Charlie doesn't turn away or even close his eyes. If he's going to die powerless, he will never for a second show that he's scared. 

"We wouldn't have been a team," he feels the need to point out - if he's about to get shot, he should at least sort out the specifics of the conversation first. "You would've like, made me do all your dirty work 'n shit, and taken most of the money and all the credit."

"Isn't that how teams work?" he grins, raising the gun to Charlie's eye level. "Ah well, specifics don't really matter. It was a _delight_ meeting you once more."

The gunshot echoes through the room. It's the loudest thing he's ever heard. 

Only, when he stops wincing, he realises that he's actually not dead (unless you start the afterlife in an exact replica of the room you were in, because then he could be dead. He's never claimed to understand what happens after you die.) But then, Mac walks in, gun pointed at a now-disarmed Wolf King as he holds up his hands. One of them has a nice bullet shaped hole in it. 

"You killed my best friend," he hisses, kicking away the pistol on the floor and malice twisting his face. It's the only time Charlie's ever seen him look like this, even in his memories. A range of emotions have always been present as Mac has an overly expressive face, but pure anger, _hatred_ , even, is something he's never seen before. It's terrifying in the same way it's exciting.

"The kid stole my car," he shrugs, letting his hands drop but making no effort to move. "You know how it is. You take something from me, I give you back to the ocean."

"He was just a _kid!_ " Mac roars, and there's a tear leaking from his eye but he's still standing steady, towering over the Wolf King even though there's not a huge difference in height. "He was a fucking _kid_ and all he needed was some help but you _fucking killed him_. You're not the _king_ of LA, you're a fucking criminal who got rich from fucking people over- you, you could afford to buy fucking _hundreds_ of those stupid _goddamn cars!_ " 

"It was one of the originals, y'know. Air cooled turbo and-" and, and, and Mac shoots him three times. The first shot is to the head and he drops like a fly, and then Mac shoots him twice more, and then twice more again and keeps pressing the trigger even when all the revolver does is click at him. 

Years of reign, and the Wolf King of LA is now Orian Franklin, dead on the floor. 

Slowly, Charlie gets up and takes the gun out of Mac's hand, tosses it behind him onto the bed and pulls Mac into his chest. Sobs echo through the finally quiet room and he doesn't really know what to do at all, so he awkwardly pets Mac's head and squeezes him with his other arm. It probably looks dumb, but it seems to be having some kind of positive effect. "If you want, I'll split the four mil someone offered to kill him," he murmurs into the other man's hair, and that makes him giggle even though he's still sniffling. That's all Charlie can really ask for. 

Then, Mac pulls away to wipe his eyes and leans in to kiss Charlie. It's soft, sweeter than any kiss Charlie's ever had, and _this_ is all he could ever really want.

"Am I interrupting?" the Nurse calls, scoffing when Charlie pulls away to tell her she is. "No killing other patients- it's my number-fucking-one rule!"

"It was self defense!"

"All five shots?" she quips. Mac glares at the floor, but she doesn't seem actually angry. "I guess I'll call a slow code. But you're fuckin' coming with me, 'cause Orian's whole gang'a misfits is out there waiting for him to come back, and I gotta feeling they're not gonna like the news."

"I kinda feel like I owe you guys, for like, protecting me 'n all that shit, but somethin's telling me that the Mr Gunman who put a hit out on him announcing he's dead isn't gonna go down too well, y'know?" Charlie frowns, grinning sheepishly when the nurse gives him a look that says _ya think?_ But then, because he is the most incredible genius to grace this Earth, he has an awesome idea. "Let me make a call," he says, speed-dialing Dennis before either of them offer any input.

-

As it turns out, Dennis and Dee never got round to selling the Yakuta Canaries they'd stolen from the Wolf King, because of the whole laying-low-cause-they're-supposed-to-be-dead business. So, what with the Nurse being kind enough to tip them off that the Wolf King was on his way to the hospital, on top of a once-in-a-lifetime offer of discounted membership rates to the Hotel, they were reasonably happy to part with them in exchange for Mac, Charlie and the Nurse not being fucking killed by his entourage. Charlie takes the diamonds to the gates and manages to convince them that they can take the Wolf King's place and control LA with them, as long as they like, leave Charlie, Mac, the Nurse and the Reynolds alone. 

And yeah, he's almost certain than next time they come into conflict with anyone of that _clique_ or whatever they're going to call themselves now, they'll definitely try and kill them all. But at least now he can expect it. 

"Where to now?" Mac asks as Charlie tries to tame his hair, sat on the edge of the bathtub in just sweats and _definitely_ sulking. His pout worsens when Charlie shrugs, but his eyes still follow as Charlie buttons up his shirt. There's multiple tears in the back from being, y'know, _stabbed,_ but he only bought one shirt and Mac's clothes are laughably big on him. 

"You tryna ask me if I'm gonna come back?" he teases.

"No, that's super gay," he shoots back, but he's still pouting. 

"Yeah, it fuckin' is. Give me your number, you idiot."

And yeah, it _is_ super gay how much Charlie wants to see him again.

But, the grin on Mac's face that lights up the whole room seems like it's worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> should i do a part two? please let me know! the adventures of charlie the criminal and mac the less-bad criminal


End file.
